Crimson Snow Angel: My parents are out of town, I'm bored out of my mind, and I'm not going to school for the next two days (bad cold) so you lucky people get more of my story. That is, until I get the Pirates of the Caribbean computer game working, damn thing keeps on freezing before it even loads the game. Not that you wanted to know that.
Now I know that no one has said this yet, but I'm going to explain this now. This story is NOT a self-insert (thought that is one of my favorite type of story) it's just written in first person. I have an easier time writing this way, and I think you get a better idea of how the character thinks and feels. Oh, and if anyone had trouble pronouncing Deirdre it's kinda like Deedra. Thanks for listening.
Author's Response:
Cloaca Maxima: Thank you, I was really hoping that this would be different from everything else that's been done.
Cr@zyowl: Things might not speed up for a while, so I hope that I'll keep your attention until then. Thanks for reviewing.
Vaughn: I'm hoping it's going to be really good. Thanks for wishing me luck; I'm probably going to need it. I just hope I don't loose your interest; I'd hate to loose one of the few reviewers that's blatantly honest. Thanks much!
Free, But Never Alone.
Chapter 2: The House.
The first thing that became apparent about the house was that it was dark. It seemed that all the windows were covered with sun-blocking dust and filth, and that the few rooms that did have light fixtures did not work. My luck to a tee; anything that can go wrong will go wrong. I stumbled around in the dark going from room to room looking for a light that worked or a candle, whichever came first. Finally, after fumbling through most of the first floor, I found an ancient oil lamp. Quickly I pulled out my lighter (no I'm not a smoker, I just enjoy lighting candles) and light the wick.
The light was dim and cast eerie shadows about the place, but it would have to do. Now able to see I looked around the room I was in. It appeared to be some sort of formal dining room, with ebony furniture, velvet drapes, and crystal chandeliers. The rugs were old and threadbare, but in their prime they must have been simply extravagant.
"That's odd," I muttered while looking at some of the fine chairs. Behind the chairs there were small tracks left in the thick layers of dust on the floor, looking as though someone had recently sat in them. Feeling a little disconcerted at my finding I decided to explore some other rooms. With each new room that I entered I lit a few oil lamps (there seemed to be a few portable ones here and there, as well as four or five wall mount ones in each room) until the entire first floor was lit. Though utterly covered in dust all the furnishings of the first floor were beautiful and likely to be very expensive. It would take a while getting used to not having electric lights, but the furniture could more than make up for it.
The second floor proved to be almost identical to the first with the small exception of not having a kitchen (meaning it was basically a sitting room, a bathroom, a library, a dining room, and a ballroom, with an assortment of closets and hidden stair wells.) The third floor was comprised mostly of bedrooms and bathrooms (I turned on one of the faucets in the largest bathroom, and the water came out rusty at first, but it worked, which made me slightly uneasy about the whole lights not working thing.) I was just about to go and get my stuff from the main foyer so that I could get settled in a room when I noticed a door that had something carved into the frame. Whatever it said I was unable to make out in the dim light and floating dust, so I opened the door.
It stuck at first, but swung open soon enough, revealing a small landing with a set of stairs that went down and a set of stair that went up. I chose to go up first as I had undoubtedly already seen whatever was downstairs. The wooden boards creaked beneath my feet, the dust doing nothing to muffle the sound. After climbing for what felt like forever I reached a single closed door that had sayings carved into it here and there such as, "Treasure attic," " Tortuga Landing," or "Black Pearl's Final Berth." It struck me as odd that such an extravagant looking house would have graffiti etched into one of its doors.
Opening the door I was first greeted with a monstrous cloud of dust, but once it settled a strange sight lay before me. The attic itself was rectangular, with window alcoves here a there and a door that led out onto a rooftop balcony, and a ceiling that was flat on top but was angled on the sides so that from the doorway the over all shape of the room was not a cube but a trapezoid. There were small café tables and chair strewn about the place, odd chests and cupboards here and there, and bits of the walls were painted blue, green, red, or left as plain dark wood. Overall the décor was truly mismatched. What really set the mood though was what was lying in heaps on the floor. The were tarnished swords, daggers, piles of moth eaten cloths, scrolls and maps along with blank parchment paper, spiraling towers of ancient gold coins, scraps of old wood, raggedy things that perhaps had once been small cloth dolls, tarnished silver basins, hats and belts hanging from chairs and chests, and beautiful jewelry (perhaps the only thing that didn't look filthy) in tangled bunches. Most interesting of all though, was on the left wall, between two window alcoves, was an art piece of sorts. A weather beaten black canvas covered the wall, on top of which was a collection of frayed flags, a few I recognized as European nations, but for the most part they all portrayed a skull with crossed bones on it. The windows were clean for some reason, and light filtering through the kicked up dust made the attic look like an abandoned pawnshop.
"Ceremony, ceremony, ceremony. Give it a rest already mate we're dead! There's really no point in crossing swords with me now. You do this every… day… And you're not Norrington," a heavy male voice with a British twang said behind me.
I paid no attention to what the man was saying, "The old lady never said anything about other people living here as well," I replied without turning around.
"That's because no one is living here," he replied in a bored way.
"So you broke in then?" I asked, turning around to get a look at the intruder. He was a tall man of about thirty. His eyes were lined with kohl, and his hair was done in both dreads and braids with coins and beads strung through it. He had a mustache, and a goatee that was done in two braids also with beads. Looking downwards I did a double take at his cloths. He looked like something out of one of the 'Treasure Island' movies. "Who are you?" I asked narrowing my eyes. I knew this town was old fashioned, but this was pushing it.
"I'm Captain Jack Sparrow. Or more to the point, the Ghost of Captain Jack Sparrow," he said merrily, while I just looked on in disbelief.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Crimson Snow Angel: I was hoping that you'd meet more of the people in the house, but it was taking me longer to type than I would have liked, so I'll get to it next chapter. I hope you liked it. Read and REVIEW please!!!!!! ^_^